Hellfire
by FallingT
Summary: Skyhold is celebrating Wintersand and the Inquisitor herself has decided to partake in the celebrations. No one is able to look away from Esmeralda Trevelyan as she dances, shining brighter than the setting sun. Even Solas can't take his eyes off of her, but he struggles even more when a particular song riverbaretes in the air, baring his most shameful thoughts for everyone to see.


So, I've been listening in loop for the past three hours to this song, especially this one version (which is a female cover that you can find here - 【Anna】Hellfire (female version) 『The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), and I found myself with the idea of this fic stuck in my head.

This is something random that I just wrote, so yeah, have at it!

* * *

Wintersand had knocked on the doors of Skyhold, and the whole keep had gone in a frenzy to prepare for the festivities. It was not an unseen event, that during dark times people needed a little reminder of normality, and the Inquisition had deemed it necessary to keep the morale of its people up.

And so, as per tradition in the Southern countries, merchants, bards, musicians and actors flooded the yards of the Keep, bringing merriment and entertainment to whoever wished to partake in the festivities. A small stage had been built in the inner courtyard, where people could enjoy various performances brought to them from actors, poets and others performers that had flocked to Skyhold to celebrate; a small but well supplied market had sprouted near the stables, with stalls selling wares that varied from rare books, to trinkets, to food and ale. In the lower bailey, for the enjoyment of the soldiers and the bookies – of which Varric Tethras was the undisputed leader – a ring now stood in the middle, providing fine entertainment for whomever wished to participate, be it as a watcher or a fighter.

In the upper bailey, just outside the Herald's Rest, a crowd had gathered to assist to a rare event: the Inquisitor had forwent her business attire, opting for what she had described as the traditional clothes of her people, and was dancing to whatever tunes the bards and musicians were playing.

Inquisitor Esmeralda Trevelyan was of gipsy blood, something she had never hidden from anyone who simply cared to ask, and she was proudly representing her people and heritage, dancing with a smile on her lips and a sway in her hips, bracelets made of golden circles playing in tune with her every movement, clinking each time her wrists and ankles moved to the music.

Everyone was staring in awe, men and women alike, eyeing her body bend and turn with every note, looking at her sun-kissed chocolate skin left expose by her colorful blouse and long skirt, kept up with a hand as the other gestured in the air.

Yes, everyone was looking…even _him_.

Solas was standing near the entrance to the smithy, leaning on the wooden wall, with his arm crossed over his chest and his eyes transfixed on the flexible figure of the Inquisitor.

He couldn't stop looking at her. He hadn't, in fact, stopped looking from the second she had stepped outside dressed like _that_. No matter how many times he cursed himself, commanded himself to look away and turn back to his studies, – he had so much work to do, this festivities weren't really something that interested him, after all – but he couldn't.

In part because Esmeralda had been so enthusiast about the whole ordeal that he had felt almost compelled to participate, lest he came face to face with guilt, but the less rational part of him knew he was there _for her_.

He had fought against his better judgment for months, and it had been to no avail.

He wanted her.

He wanted her the way a man wanted a woman.

He wanted all of her.

And he wanted it all for his own and his own only.

The sudden silence stunned him out of his own head. His eyes immediately refocused on Esmeralda, and he saw her conferring with another woman who was dressed similarly to her; another gipsy, perhaps. The two exchanged some quick banter, and soon after the woman with blazing red hair left the circle and went to stand next to a band of musicians.

The music started, and Solas was immediately confused: from the sound of it, it was boding to be a song that was everything but joyous or particularly right to be danced on, but a quick glance over to the Inquisitor revealed a look of determination and a slight smirk on her deep crimson lips.

The woman with fiery hair started to chant in a low voice, words tumbling out of her lips in what sounded like…Tevene?

He frowned as he kept listening, his eyes never leaving Esmeralda.

And then the first stanza drifted in the air…

 _ **"**_ _ **Beata Andraste**_  
 _ **You know I am a righteous man**_  
 _ **Of my virtue I am justly proud"**_

Solas' eyes widened as the words hit him squarely in the chest; leaving aside the fact that the singer had a voice so powerful it could speak to the soul, or the fact that the song was addressed to Andraste, those first two lines cut through his defenses with surprising ease.

He barely had the time to compose himself, and the song went on.

 _ **"**_ _ **Beata Andraste**_  
 _ **You know I'm so much purer than**_  
 _ **The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd"**_

He had never felt so singled out amidst a crowd before; it was as if the woman had been in his head, had listened to his most private thoughts and was now baring him in front of the world.

 _ **"**_ _ **Then tell me, Andraste**_  
 _ **Why I see her dancing there**_  
 _ **Why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul"**_

Solas froze in place as the song went on, the words seeping even deeper in his mind. How come the words were so spot on? How come they were describing exactly the way he felt each time Esmeralda looked at him with those bright green eyes?

 _ **"**_ _ **I feel her, I see her**_  
 _ **The sun caught in raven hair**_  
 _ **Is blazing in me out of all control"**_

He watched, mouth tense in a thin line and eyes terse; he watched as Esmeralda danced on the words of that song that seemed to be taken directly from the very essence of his soul, he listened as the woman with fiery hair and the voice of a goddess sang out loud the very thoughts that he had conjured in the utmost hidden recesses of his own mind. He watched as the dying sun of late afternoon danced over her skin and caught in her raven hair, shining bright lights over the shadows each time it found the mirror-like surface of her golden bracelets.

 _ **"**_ _ **Like fire**_  
 _ **Hellfire**_  
 _ **This fire in my skin**_  
 _ **This burning desire**_  
 _ **Is turning me to sin"**_

At this point the music and the voice picked up speed and volume, and Solas had to restrain himself from doing something rush that he would regret. His lips had bared in a sneer, his pride flashing in anger at feeling so utterly _exposed_.

And it was so truthful, what the song was saying!

He did feel like a sinner, as if the desire he could feel burning just beneath his skin could lead him astray, or worse.

 _ **"**_ _ **It's not my fault**_  
 _ **I'm not to blame**_  
 _ **It is the gypsy girl**_  
 _ **The witch who sent this flame"**_

An image painted itself in the eye of his mind as he kept his stare fixed on the elegant form of the Inquisitor. He saw her, Esmeralda, with flames dancing on her and around her, as she commanded fire with her smooth movements, binding it to do her will. It was enticing, almost intoxicating to imagine her so, bare and covered in flames, dancing for him, _only_ for him.

 _ **"**_ _ **It's not my fault**_  
 _ **If in the Maker's plan**_  
 _ **He made the devil so much**_  
 _ **Stronger than a man"**_

Yes, it was not his fault.

He was a man.

A man with needs and desires.

A man that, in his time, had been able to obtain whatever he wanted with just a look or a gesture.

But was he so weak to be unable to resist the temptations in front of him? And what temptation could a mortal, _human_ , woman hold for him, a God?

 _ **"**_ _ **Protect me, Andraste**_  
 _ **Don't let this siren cast her spell**_  
 _ **Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone**_  
 _ **Destroy Esmeralda**_  
 _ **And let her taste the fires of Hell**_  
 _ **Or else let her be mine and mine alone"**_

The next stanza shook him out of whatever dark circle of hell he had fell into, bringing him back down on the ground with unexpected force.

Solas found himself with his mouth agape, breathing heavily, his heart hammering mercilessly in his chest, beads of sweat pearling his forehead.

What was he even thinking?

What distasteful thoughts had his mind conjured?

No, there was no way he would ever want to harm Esmeralda…

Though, somewhere deep, deep, down and away, he could find a small voice agreeing with those words…

 ** _"_** ** _Hellfire_**  
 ** _Dark fire_**  
 ** _Now gypsy, it's your turn_**  
 ** _Choose me or_**  
 ** _Your pyre_**  
 ** _Be mine or you will burn"_**

As the end of the song neared, he felt drained.

He was confused beyond measure, not sure if that was all a very unsettling vision that his mind and the faded had conjured to torment him.

 _ **"**_ _ **Maker have mercy on her**_  
 _ **Maker have mercy on me**_  
 _ **But she will be mine**_  
 _ **Or she will burn!"**_

The song finally ended, with the singer touching the heights of it alongside the musicians, but by then Solas had already stopped caring; he had eyes only for Esmeralda, whose body was just now coming to a stop, with both knees on the ground, head thrown onwards, curly raven hair covering her face from view.

He didn't even notice how silence had befallen the whole keep during the performance, no, he could only see and hear Esmeralda.

And when the clapping started, his heart stopped.

The Inquisitor rose her head, hair cascading over her bare shoulders, and her emerald eyes immediately found Solas. She looked at him defiantly, with challenge, and knowledge, and focus, and the same burning desire he felt.

His breath hitched as realization hit him squarely on the jaw.

 _She knew._

Yes, she knew, and she wanted _him_ just as much as he wanted _her_.

No matter how many times she was going to get burned in the Maker's fire, Esmeralda Trevelyan was willing to sin, so who was he to deny her?


End file.
